


stray dog (on the side of the road)

by toxiccradio



Category: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst galore, Drinking to Cope, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, drinking and angst, llewyn is a wreck, taking a trip down memory lane in true folk music fashion, this is my first work I’ve ever posted, this is one sad boi, we can’t have nice things in this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxiccradio/pseuds/toxiccradio
Summary: Llewyn may have not done so well in school, but he wasn’t a fucking moron. Mike had always been the people person. He was the one everyone liked. Llewyn had always known he was the shitty stray dog that came with the Mike Timlin package. Mike had been the one who had taken him in, offered him friendship (eventually love) and a place to stay. For what felt like the first time in years, this stupid, stinky wet dog had found a home.But Mike was gone now.





	stray dog (on the side of the road)

Llewyn had to admit, Mike’s friends certainly tried their best with him. They always invited him wherever they went, and usually out of loneliness, and against his better judgement, the man would agree to go. Although, silence frequently accompanied him. At first, Mike’s pals would try and get Llewyn to talk, draw any kind of words or laughs out of him, but he was a bitter man and continued to brood. Eventually, they accepted his odd form of silence, but still offered their company regardless. Without conversation as a distraction, Llewyn became a master people-watcher. He began to notice the small things he would have overlooked years ago and take in his surroundings, his eyes never really settling on one point for too long. It was easier to see now, that there wasn’t a terribly long setlist in that night. Most people in the bar here who were nursing a drink had come for pleasure and a good time. If you looked past the haze of the cigarette smoke, a careful eye could discern the occasional musician or singer (usually seated by the stage) with their guitar case under the table.

To them, this night was for more than just pleasure. It was a battle to hold their head above water. Life itself was hard enough, but trying to live your life by playing music was damn near impossible.

Llewyn wondered how much money these acts would get paid for their performance. Where would the money go, how were they getting by? He recognized their struggle, almost too intimately, and some part of him hoped (prayed) they were doing better than him. He was a fucking asshole, as everyone in his life liked to remind him, but he wasn’t completely heartless.

The sudden thought of finances fell heavily on Llewyn’s shoulders and he slumped over on the table, digging patterns into the wood with his fingernails. The others laughed loudly beside him, guzzling their alcohol with gusto, drawing a few looks from the bar patrons and the bartender himself.

It should have been amusing, really, how different Llewyn acted now. Years ago, Llewyn would not have been the quiet outsider orbiting around the group. Before Mike died, he was the loud, obnoxious asshole, who was a little too quick to laugh or make an irritating joke. Now, he was still an asshole, just a quieter one who lingered in the back rooms, had a tendency to forget to eat, and somehow managed to weasel you out of your last cigarette. Really not much had changed, although sometimes it felt like everything had.

Llewyn may have not done so well in school, but he wasn’t a fucking moron. Mike had always been the people person. He was the one everyone liked. Llewyn had always known he was the shitty stray dog that came with the Mike Timlin package. Mike had been the one who had taken him in, offered him friendship (eventually love) and a place to stay. For what felt like the first time in years, this stupid, stinky wet dog had found a home.

But Mike was gone now.

There were days when Llewyn tried to pretend that maybe Mike had just woken up early to go to the grocery store, and left Llewyn alone to sleep in, like he occasionally did. He had always been considerate like that. But he didn’t complain or expect anything in return, ever. It just came out of the kindness of his heart. Whereas, Llewyn would be holding that favor over his room mates head for as long as possible. 

On the days that Llewyn tried to pretend, things immediately felt out of place. The left side of their bed was too cold, for starters. Mike had been a tall, slim guy, but somehow he managed to radiate an amazing amount of heat. Sometimes stifling in the summer, their bedsheets and blankets could stay warm for long periods of time after the bed had been abandoned. But with Llewyn being the only one to occupy the bed anymore, the mattress began to feel like the frigid oceans, where all the warmth was sucked out of your body.

And so, immediately alone, Llewyn would crawl out of bed and wrap himself in one of Mike's sweaters that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and morning sunshine. But the man's smell was long gone. He would stumble to their kitchen to make some coffee and sit out on their apartment patio.

The tiny ledge was barely big enough for two chairs and the two of them when they brought out their guitars.But they spent most of their time in the apartment out on that patio. Smoking and singing. Even at Christmas, they would dangle their shitty string lights around the railings to make their place feel somewhat festive.

But Llewyn had foreclosed on that apartment two months ago.

Mike had always had better financial success than Llewyn had. He was living successfully in that apartment without the other folk singer for less than a year before they met and moved in together. But with their combined income, affording the place was no problem. Their gigs and the (very) mild success of their record allowed for some extra spending money for the two of them. But the money ran out eventually, and Llewyn couldn't afford the apartment any longer. 

His last real connection to Mike was gone. Except for a few pieces of clothing and small trinkets (tiny enough to fit in a suitcase) that the Timlin family insisted he keep, there wasn't anything left of his partner.

At the thoughts and memories, Llewyn dropped his head onto the table with an audible moan. One of his companions nearby heard and offered a concerned look, setting down their mug of beer for a moment to speak to the folk singer.

“Llew? Is everything alright?”

Not opening his eyes, Llewyn merely licked his lips at the female voice and nodded. Slowly, tired, heavy lids opened to reveal brown eyes that appeared muddy and confused.

With much effort, Llewyn managed a smile that somehow convinced the girl that he was fine. He lifted his head off the table and took a slow drink from his own glass of liquor. The amber beer felt smooth going down, but still he felt a catch in his throat.

“Yeah, I'm doing alright,” He said slowly, as though trying to convince himself, “Just tired. Nothing a little sleep can't fix.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my first written fanfic since I was a tween on ff.net! It’s weird being back in this world! I love this movie so so so much and I adore how even though Mike had no screentime his presence was felt throughout the whole movie. I watch this film almost monthly because everything about it is fantastic, Oscar’s performance, the soundtrack, even just the way it envokes a sense of exhaustion in the viewer. 
> 
> UGH! So good. Anyway, healthy constructive criticism is absolutely welcome! I know I struggle with grammar (even as a fucking English major), but I try. Let me know your thoughts and feel free to talk to me about Llewyn and other stuff at babybanditto on tumblr! 
> 
> (I posted this on mobile so forgive formatting issues until I can fix them!!)


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